Entangled
by ABrighterDarkness
Summary: She'd dismissed his role out of hand. This witch. She wasn't to be impressed by how deep he could dive his broom. He actually got the impression that such a stunt would scare her more than entice her. She didn't care that his person was moulded into merchandise. To this witch, this girl, he was but another boy.
1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

**So this is a story that came to me and I've been playing with on and off for the last couple of months. After writing **_**Finding Home**_**, I really wanted to write a longer, more in depth Viktor/Hermione story and I was surprised at how quickly the ideas started bouncing around in my brain. And this is the result of that plunny. I've got roughly 15k written for this story already and I'm guestimating that this story will finish somewhere between 40-50k.**

**This is a slightly slower pace for the romance side of the pairing with a much heavier plot than you would have read in Finding Home. I hope that it's still enjoyable for you though!**

**I am slowly working through new material for The Voice and Simon Says but I'm having a pretty determined block at the moment so I am shifting gears to work on stories that are actually flowing at the moment. When my muse for one of the other two decides that it's time for me to work on these two, I'll absolutely get new material posted.**

**I hope you enjoy and look forward to seeing what you think!**

**Always,**

**ABD**

**%%%%%**

**Chapter 1**

**%%%%%**

Doctors Nicholas and Anna Granger had always been so very proud of their only daughter. They worked their hardest to ensure their daughter would have everything she needed to be able to succeed as she grew older. They weren't the sort of parents to pamper or spoil their child.

She grew up in a comfortable but modest home with exacting but so very loving parents. Her toys in the early years were always both stimulating and educational, as she grew older books of all sorts replaced the toys. She was given additional tutors before and throughout primary school. Her parents insisted upon exemplary grades in both traditional schooling and her additional education. When she did well, she was rewarded with additions to the family's ever-growing little library. Though, Hermione Granger very rarely _didn't_ do well. More than anything else in her whole little world, she hated disappointing her parents and endeavored to not give cause to see that heartbreaking expression on her papa's face.

Her parents had raised her to be multilingual from the start, which was to be expected. At eleven, she was fluent in English and Russian and had begun learning French when she was five, though only the former two were normally spoken in Granger household. French had been chosen due to the Granger family's love for vacations to the continent when they could manage it. Additionally, her parents had her taught traditional etiquette, comportment and self-defense lessons. Hermione understood that her parents insisted that they were necessary. That didn't mean she liked them. She absolutely did _not_. She had tried to argue it a few times throughout the years but quickly learned from the stern lecture given to her by her mother that it was not up for debate and that, apparently, Hermione would thank her someday.

She was sure that _someday_ she might thank them. But while going through primary school, she found it difficult to be so very _different_ from her peers in so many ways.

The Granger parents had instilled a love for learning and the written word into their daughter from a young age. The other children didn't seem to quite agree with that. And they made sure that she knew it. If it wasn't the books they were teasing her for then it was her slightly overlarge teeth or her wild, untamable hair. If it wasn't that, it was the funny way she and her family spoke. Or it was that her family was _different_. How many times had the other children cruelly told that the Grangers ought to just go back to where ever they'd come from? Hermione had lost count.

Hermione knew that her parents truly only wanted the best for her and did not want her to struggle in the ways that they had. They had had to work so very hard to get where they were. Having escaped to England from the Soviet Union during the height of the Cold War, her parents had faced innumerable odds. Though they didn't talk about it much, at least not to her directly, Hermione knew that when they left their home in Russia they had left everything, including their names, behind. From what little she had learned about the region through school, she knew that they had done so for their own safety and by extension, her's as well.

Some days, Hermione found it odd that she had no idea what her parents' birth names were but there were other times where she was rather afraid to know anything more than she already did, what little it was. Like the many times throughout the years that she would come home from school and see a pair of well-dressed men sitting across the table from her tense parents. She would see her mother's hand tighten around her papa's as soon as she peered into the room and her papa would give her a silent, pointed look. _That_ look, she knew, was an urgent warning to head to her room and _stay out of sight_. Even with the weight of her curiosity weighing on her, she knew better than to attempt to eavesdrop. Those men had frightened her more than once.

She remembered the one time, not long ago, when the darker haired of the two men had shown up at her school during her lunchtime. Her parents had been incensed that the school had allowed him to speak with her privately. Hermione shuddered remembering the way the tall man hovered over her, demanding answers to questions about her parents, their routines, and relationships before the questions became invasively about herself. It was only when the man had roughly grabbed her arms to shake the answers he wanted out of her that Mrs Weizner had decided to call the questioning to an end and phoned her parents at their practice.

Papa had arrived at the school in less than a half hour and Hermione was certain she had never seen him nearly as angry as he was that day. She had stubbornly refused to cry, despite how afraid she had been, when that man had been in the room with her but the moment she saw her papa all of the emotion rushed out of her in an instant. As soon as she was safely ensconced in his arms her body shook with the force of her sobs.

The bullying and harassment from her schoolmates had been nearly unbearable for weeks following the ordeal. Even worse, most of the teachers no longer stepped in to help her. That she was privately questioned in the manner that she had been seemed to have instilled a belief that something was _wrong_ with the Grangers. Hermione had come home from school more often than not bruised and bleeding with most, if not all, of her belongings in various stages of destroyed during her last month of school that year. It had been heartbreaking for her parents to see and utterly devastating to the young girl.

And then one day during the summer that followed, a strict looking older woman by the name of Professor Minerva McGonagall had appeared on their doorstep and announced to the small family that Hermione _was_ different, special even. She was a witch. Hermione had inwardly grimaced as she remembered the way that Louise Melvin's face broke out in grotesque pustules immediately following yet another round of cruel bullying harassment during that month of terror following her questioning. Or the way that Paul Davis seemed incapable of walking without tripping over his own feet after shoving her down onto the hot pavement earlier that week.

She hadn't wanted to be more _different_, at that point she only wanted to be left alone.

But now, she had the opportunity to go to a new school. One where other children would be just as different as she was. Hermione held her breath as she eyed her parents. Would they let her go? Would they give her the opportunity to actually be accepted by her peers? To actually have friends? _Please, please, mum, papa, please!_ She begged mentally, knowing better than to display such behavior aloud in front of company.

To her everlasting joy, they had taken their daughter's magic in stride and loved her still. Had they been asked, they were admittedly very wary about sending Hermione away to Hogwarts for the majority of the year for the next seven years. There were many, many contributing factors to their hesitation, most of which would be understandable for any parent of a young child.

Still, they couldn't keep her from her magic, as much as both of the Granger parents often wished that they could. Anna especially wished that her girl had been born without magic. Hermione's eagerness for a new world and new subjects to absorb was enough, some days, to break her mother's heart. Anna wanted to keep her daughter close. To keep her safe and hopefully shield her from at least _some_ of the cruelty that the world had to offer. She knew she couldn't. Her baby was growing up all too quickly and had already experienced more than her fair share of cruelty at the hands of her peers. Regardless of their hesitation, the Granger parents stood supportively while their daughter ran headfirst towards-and disappeared through-the solid brick wall at the train station.

%%%

Those first few months of her first year were by far the worst for both parents and child. No parent wanted to read that many letters stained with their daughter's tears. Especially when their girl was so very far away and they could do very little to comfort her aside from splurging a bit on their occasional care packages from home. But then suddenly, the letters changed and the inclusion of the two boys she had befriended lightened the weight on Anna's mind, though her husband was decidedly less impressed much to her amusement. The absence of tear-stained letters was enough, for the time being, to override his fatherly concern about his daughter befriending two young wizards.

Letters came throughout the years, though neither of her parents was so naive to believe that they had not been heavily edited. Several long weeks without a single letter from their daughter or her school near the end of her second year had Nicholas bordering in an anxiety fueled rage wishing that he knew how to get to the school and check in person that Hermione was well or at very least that the family had gotten an owl where they could write her if she had gotten overwhelmed and simply forgotten to write. When she arrived home for that summer, Hermione had carefully dodged every one of their direct questions. Anna and Nicholas had each managed to glean some additional details out of their daughter through careful conversation. Neither was pleased with the picture that was being painted.

That their little witch was entirely too thin and had grown up far more quickly than what was normal for a fourteen-year-old girl went unnoticed by neither of her parents when she returned home after her third year. Nicholas had carefully held his wife's hand in the crook of his elbow, his opposite hand over hers to help to ground the radiating anger that he could see boiling within the woman. Their girl was growing up entirely too quickly as it was. Whatever that school was playing at had altered her. It all kept coming back to those two boys. Neither could find it in themselves to be disappointed in their daughter's staunch loyalty to her friends but they couldn't help but wish she had chosen less troublesome ones. Anna resigned herself to a mother-daughter shopping trip that summer to obtain clothes that better fit the girl's rapidly maturing figure.

When Hermione wrote home her fourth year with a happily glowing letter about a Bulgarian Quidditch player who had apparently taken a liking to their daughter, Anna had been surprisingly quiet. Nicholas knew, though, that it was fear that kept his wife quiet. While they were both pleased-Nicholas was admittedly less so-that a young man had finally shown their beautiful girl the attention that she deserved, both were worried about what the Bulgarian boy would have in store for their daughter. It was too close. Far too close to their former lives than either of them would ever truly be comfortable with. Their responses were carefully worded and full of love and support, neither daring to voice their concerns lest their stubborn girl stop sharing altogether.

She was a smart girl. She would know to keep herself safe.

Both had been admittedly surprised to have received an owl just before Hermione was meant to return home for the summer. That the letter was written in their native language had them even more so. Nicholas carefully opened the letter and spread it out on the table between them as they usually did and the Granger parents leaned forward to read.

%%%

Hermione found herself in an interesting situation and she wasn't quite sure what to make of it and if she were honest, she wasn't sure that she truly wanted to question it. She was in the library, which in itself was in no way unusual. What _was_ unusual was the boy sitting across from her at the table.

Viktor Krum, Quidditch Star extraordinaire, had approached her several weeks ago in that very same spot and in fumbling English, asked if he could sit with her. Hermione had blinked in surprise but quickly reorganized the stacks of books and parchment that she had spread across the table to allow him room on the opposite side. He had offered a quiet thank you and a small smile before taking the offered spot and setting himself to work.

He had returned to the same spot every evening following. The first few days had been quiet with witch and wizard fully involved in the work in front of them. It was an oddly simple companionship.

Just a couple of days before, the large Bulgarian boy had muttered scornfully under his breath at the cluster of obnoxious, giggling girls peeking through the shelves. Without thought or looking up from her task, Hermione advised him to simply ignore the gawkers. It was only his sudden silence that caused her to glance up from her work. His surprised but curious glance reminded her that neither his grumbled commentary nor her response had been in spoken in English.

"You speak Russian?" he asked curiously in his usual stumbling way.

"My parents are Russian," she answered with a shrug, though she was sure that her face had begun to flush under his gaze when his expression morphed into a relieved grin.

Odd as it was, that exchange seemed to instantly thaw the simple yet awkward nature of their associations. Once the language barrier no longer existed, the quiet, shy boy seemed much more confident in his ability to converse with her.

And converse they did. Hermione was amazed and, admittedly, a little overwhelmed with how easy it was to talk to Viktor about anything and everything. She liked it. Quite a bit actually. She didn't think that she had ever had a boy's attention on her like this. The young witch found herself blushing when his typically stoic expression would evolve into an amused grin or his surprisingly boisterous laugh would draw Madam Pince's attention during their conversations.

Granted, their conversations had garnered more than a few odd glances from the other students, though Hermione was unsure if it was due to the famous Quidditch player speaking with the swotty bookworm of Gryffindor or the language that was foreign to most if not all of the Hogwarts population. Probably a combination of the two, Hermione decided.

Hermione leaned back into her seat, dropping her quill to flex her fingers that had stiffened from writing and watched the boy sitting across from her only to blush once more when she realized he had, in turn, been watching her.

"Alright?" She asked, foregoing English as had become their usual.

He nodded but looked decidedly nervous but followed suit and asked, "May I ask you something?"

"Of course," Hermione replied, immediately. "What is it?"

Viktor seemed to hesitate for a moment before carefully reaching across the table and taking her hand in his. "Would you accompany me to the Yule Ball, Hermyonee?"

Hermione felt her face warm and her breath catch and she smiled shyly, "I would like that, Viktor. A lot, actually. Are...are you sure though? That you...that you want to go with me?"

The wizard frowned and tilted his head to the side in question, "Why would you ask that?"

She lowered her gaze and made to withdraw her hand only to have his tighten slightly around it. Her eyes shot back up to his face and she shrugged awkwardly, "I know my faults better than anyone else, is all. I'm not really like…" her voice trailed off and she glanced sideways towards the group of pretty girls that had been hovering in the shelves once again.

A gentle tug on her hand brought her attention back to the boy sitting across from her, "That is _exactly_ why I ask you. You're not like them. You...You are _real_."

"A real mess maybe," she said with a self-critical laugh.

Viktor chuckled and shook his head, reaching with the hand not holding onto hers to tug gently on one of her wayward curls, "You are true beauty, Hermy-o-nee."

Hermione looked at him in confusion, flushed and heart racing from the compliment. Drawing a deep breath to ground herself once more, she smiled warmly and squeezed his hand. Retaking her quill in hand she allowed her own chuckle to escape. "I think all those bludgers to the head might have messed with your eyesight. But flattery will get you everywhere in some circles."

He grinned at her and started back into his own work.

Neither withdrew their linked hands.

%%%

There had never been a doubt that Viktor would have a career in Quidditch once he began playing and as much as Viktor loved the game-and he truly did-he had never meant for it to be all consuming. Early on in his career at Durmstrang, he had been a quiet, reserved boy dedicated to his studies and _not_ making a name for himself. Enthusiasm and energy were only shown on those closest to him which were few and far between. He had always loved flying, of course, but his Quidditch tryouts had been done on a whim.

By the time he had reached the midpoint of his educational career, there had been scouts at their practices and matches. He hadn't really thought about a professional career at that point but when the scout from his home country approached, Viktor knew that he would not be able to turn down the offer. Even as a junior member of the team he would be paid well enough that, if he was careful, he would be able to retire before he was thirty and live comfortably on his earnings.

His parents, he knew, had been eager to send him to the school so far away from home. Not only for the educational purposes but also for his protection. Young he might be but Viktor had always been well aware of the political climate and regional tensions in his home country. His parents, his mother especially, wanted him as far from it as they could possibly manage without losing their son.

He had been reluctant to attend the delegation for the Triwizard Tournament. Not that he was given any choice in the matter. Viktor would have been just as pleased to remain at the school and focus on passing his exams but it was not meant to be.

Now though...even with the events of the final challenge...Viktor couldn't bring himself to be upset that he had been forced to attend. Forced to participate.

The Yule Ball had been a dream. Truly.

That little witch. Viktor was sure he'd never felt his magic within him stir the way it did when he was in her company. He wondered if she felt the same. The flush on her cheeks when he touched her made him believe that she did. Though being raised in a home without understanding of these things she might not understand what it was she was feeling.

She doubted herself so. He hated it. He hated that those she surrounded herself with, devoted herself to, could make her feel less than she truly was. Viktor scowled as he slipped as quietly as he was capable through the Hogwarts corridors. A quick glance around told him that he was in the right place. With a quick but thorough glance either direction up and down the corridor, Viktor leaned back against the classroom door, his right hand turning the knob, pushing the door to what he had been assured was an abandoned classroom.

She sat shyly on the desk on the opposite end of the room. Dust had settled throughout the forgotten room, the only clear spots were from her small footprints and the spots along the desk where her hands had fidgeted across the surface before his arrival. He noticed that her expression brightened when he closed the door softly behind him. The small, automatic change brought warmth to him that he was unfamiliar with.

"You came," she said quietly, her shyness seeping into her words. Viktor couldn't help the rush of affection for the young witch. They had been circling this...whatever this was for the majority of the term.

"_For heaven's sake, Ron, he's only a Quidditch player."_

Some in his profession, he knew, would take stark offense to such a phrase. But Viktor had always felt himself to be a simple man. When he wasn't upon a broom with people who didn't know the last thing about him cheering him on, he was in the woods around his parent's home enjoying the actual peace and quiet. The connection.

She'd dismissed his role out of hand. This witch. She wasn't to be impressed by how deep he could dive his broom. He actually got the impression that such a stunt would scare her more than entice her. She didn't care that his person was moulded into merchandise. To this witch, this girl, he was but another boy. His academics, his _mind_, attracted her to him. To her, he was just another eighteen year old boy who happened to hold a popular profession. That was it.

Viktor had immediately understood why a boy like Harry Potter would cling to such a witch.

He hesitantly approached the girl seated on the desk, waiting for him. His hands rested on her slim waist as he stepped carefully between her thighs. He fought down a shiver as her hands ghosted over his chest and up around his neck to tease gently at the fine hairs.

They had kissed. Several times at that point. Viktor had found solace in knowing that he had given her first. He resigned himself to knowing that he would be her first but probably not her only...but if he was lucky and Magic was truly on his side, he would be her last someday also.

She was so naive. So ignorant to her power. Especially her power over him. Viktor had never known himself to submit to any sort of pressure. But in less than a year this little witch had him bound more tightly than he had ever known was possible.

This wasn't just adolescent lust. It wasn't fleeting. Whether she knew it or not, this was beyond adolescence. This was beyond passing lust. Vikor knew his magic and his magic was telling him that this was something _more_.

His magic uncoiled within him when he kissed her gently and when the exchange heated as it usually did as of late, he withdrew slowly, resting his forehead against hers to calm the churning tide within him.

"I wish you didn't have to go," she admitted quietly as she too fought to control her breathing.

Viktor sighed and straightened himself up before wrapping his arms around her shoulders and hugging her to his chest, smiling slightly to himself when hers moved snugly around his waist with her head resting comfortably over his heart. Fitting, he supposed. "I know," he agreed, resting his chin against the top of her head. "Maybe we might plan a visit over the summer?"

"I would like that," Hermione agreed with a sigh. "I would have to arrange it with my parents."

"Do you think that they would allow you to come to Bulgaria?" he asked curiously.

"I don't know, honestly. I think they would be hesitant to allow me to go but more because of the location than anything else."

"I understand," Viktor nodded. And he did. If her parents had fled Soviet Russia it was likely for good reason. Sending their daughter so close to potential danger would concern any parent. Let alone so close to danger to visit a boy. "Have you told them?"

"About you?" At his nod, he felt her smile against his chest and she returned the gesture. "I have. Mum says that Papa is a little less than pleased but she said that it's just Papa being Papa."

Viktor sighed and hugged her tighter, "I wish I could take you away from what is coming."

"Even if you could, I probably wouldn't let you."

"I know."

"You promise that you'll write?" she asked after several moments of silence.

"I promise."

The rest of the evening was spent in conversation and hushed confessions of hope for the future broken up by a handful of kisses. He was reluctant to leave her with the rest of the delegation from his school. Once they finally parted for the night, Viktor slowly made his way back to the ship only to pause before exiting the castle. After a moment's hesitation he turned around and began climbing the staircase once more. There was one detour he had to make before he left and there would be no time come morning.


	2. Chapter 2

**Author's Note:**

**First off, I am SO thrilled that everyone seems to be enjoying this story so far and I'm over the moon with all the happiness!**

**Okay so, here's the thing...the first chapter was an introduction to the Granger family. THIS chapter, however, is where we start digging into the plot. There are **a lot** of plot lines in this chapter and the next one so pay attention! :D **

**I hope that you enjoy this addition to our story!**

**Always,**

**ABD**

"I can't believe you owled my parents," Hermione huffed, leaning back into the bench with her arms across her chest. "Before I could even talk to them, even."

"I am sorry that it seems I went around you," Viktor sighed. "But I understood their positions. I am eighteen and you're not yet sixteen. I could not have them think that I would be...taking advantage of you. I wanted to do this _right_ by you."

Hermione sighed and leaned against his shoulder, "I'm not angry, not really. It's actually kind of sweet and I know it made papa's acceptance a lot easier. I just wish you'd have at least _told_ me."

Truthfully, she was flattered and amazed that he had essentially become penpals with her parents, with as frequently as they had apparently exchanged letters. Of course, at the time, she'd had no idea. Not until she'd woken up that morning to find him sitting at the table having tea with her parents. Though her papa was sitting rather stiffly which she took to mean her mum had planned the whole thing and her papa had little choice but follow her wishes.

Hermione hadn't wasted a second thought before throwing her arms around him in a tight hug which he immediately returned. They at least had the presence of mind not to escalate the affections in front of her parents. Her father had pointedly cleared his throat and the young couple detangled though Viktor did keep a hand on the small of her back until she was seated at which time he had taken her hand in his.

Breakfast had been quite enjoyable until her curiosity had broken through and she had asked the questions plaguing her. What was he doing there? How had he gotten there?

The Granger parents had rushed off to work shortly after but not before pulling Hermione aside to issue a stern warning that she was sure had her blushing to her toes. She was just grateful that they had pulled her aside! How mortifying would that have been in front of Viktor!

Eager to get out of the house following her embarrassment, the young witch had all but dragged Viktor to the local park where she had proceeded to draw out all of the details regarding his visit as they traversed the pathed paths, taking comfort in the presence of one another. She had to admit, she was discouraged at the thought that there was no telling when she might be able to see him again but Hermione was quite surprised that he had taken the initiative to do what he could to make it happen.

Sitting there on a bench in her favourite nearby park, hand in his and leaning comfortably against his shoulder, Hermione felt like it was a better idea to just let it go. According to him, they only had just a couple of days before he had to return to Bulgaria anyway.

Hermione couldn't remember a time where she felt so comfortable speaking anything other than English outside the safety of her home with her parents. Considering how the teachers and students, not to mention some of their neighbors, reacted to the Granger family throughout the years, she had always tried to hide that part of herself away when in public. But with Viktor there with her it felt like it was the most natural thing to do.

"Miss Granger," a cold, snide voice interrupted the pair. "I had wondered when I would happen upon you again."

She really ought to have known it was too good to be true. The witch felt her body tense and sensed the wizard next to her copying her attentiveness and she moved her gaze to the older man standing just a few meters from their bench. He was tall and thin, just as she remembered him to be. His eyes seemed to be the same flat dark brown as his hair. Though those eyes seemed to hold a sense of coldness. She swallowed thickly as she felt the phantom sensation of hands tightly gripping her upper arms and shaking her roughly.

"I can't say I've given you the same thought," she returned, rather rudely but Hermione couldn't be bothered by pleasantries at that moment.

"Such a shame," the man replied, Hermione wished she had managed to learn his name from her parents but they had always been rather tight-lipped about these men. "I paid a visit to your parents a few weeks ago. Boarding school, is it?"

"Yes," Hermione answered tightly. "In _Scotland_. As we've told you repeatedly."

"I'm sure it is," Mr Nastiness replied, condescendingly. His dark eyes followed to where her hand linked tensely with Viktor's and then to the wizard himself. "And your..._companion_ is obviously from Scotland as well."

"Bulgaria, actually," Viktor spoke as evenly, though heavily accented, as he could manage. "We did meet in Scotland."

"Bulgaria." The man smirked coolly, "Interesting friend you've made Miss Granger."

"Yes and it's unfortunately a very short visit, so if you _don't mind_," Hermione glared as she forced down her fear and clung to her hatred of the man.

"Oh, why so short?" he asked with a mocking tone of concern. "Somewhere better to be, perhaps? Or just passing through on an informative errand?"

"Oh not this again," Hermione groaned with intentional dramatics. "Just like when you stalked me the last...oh I don't know..._dozen_ summers and when you manhandled me four years ago...I don't know _anything_ about _anyone_ passing any sort of information. I am certainly not doing so. In case you've forgotten, _sir_, I am British born!"

"What makes you think I care where you were _born_?" The man laughed. "I already _know_ where you were born. I clearly recall speaking to your father outside of the nursery with you on the other side of that thin piece of glass. I don't _care_ where you were born, Miss Granger. I'm more concerned with what you know and who else knows it."

"Nothing and _no one_." Hermione spat as she abruptly stood from the bench, their linked hands pulling Viktor along with her. "Now, if you'll excuse us, it's lunchtime."

As the young couple pushed past the creepy man with the intention of heading to a little cafe for food-and a more populated area-her squeeze on Viktor's hand tightened when she felt a strong hand close around her upper arm in a vice-like grip. The man jerked her around roughly, breaking the linked hands of the pair, his hand clenching tighter when she attempted to pull her arm away. Hermione clenched her jaw in an attempt to force down her cry of pain. There was little doubt that this man's hands would bruise her once again.

"Mind your manners, Miss Granger," he hissed, leaning his face close to hers. "I am not above making your existence miserable to get what I want."

Viktor moved quickly to remove the man's hand with a snarled, "Don't touch her!"

Before either man could react further to the other's presence Hermione dismissed all of her etiquette training and manners that her parents had instilled since birth and spat in the face of the man that had been tormenting her and her family for as long as she could remember. The man's eyes widened in rage and he released his hold on her arm and brought the back of his hand sharply across the side of her face.

Now, Hermione's parents had always been on the strict side and her teachers terribly neglectful but that was the first time in her short life that she had ever been struck by an adult. All of her anger-fueled bravery seemed to abandon her in that instant.

Viktor immediately lunged towards the man who would hit a woman but Hermione quickly latched onto his arm and pulled him backwards, "Viktor, leave it. Please, we need to go."

The Bulgarian wizard's eyes were burning with anger as he glared at the man staring scornfully at the witch. Viktor pulled her into his side, his large arm wrapped protectively around her waist. Turning their backs to walk away, they paused again when the man called after them.

"Miss Granger," he said, voice surprisingly even. "Let your parents know to expect a visit soon."

Hermione looked over her shoulder and stared at him blankly for a moment, nodding once, before allowing Viktor to lead her away. They made their way quickly back to her house, locking the door behind them to be safe. Viktor helped her out of her cardigan, leaving her in a pale blue vest top. He sat her at the table and carefully rotated her arm to check on the rapidly bruising flesh.

She helped him locate a cloth in the kitchen that he dampened to carefully clean where her skin had split over her cheekbone when the man had stuck her. For as angry as the large wizard quite obviously was, he was unfailingly gentle in caring for her.

"Thank you," she murmured reverting to their usual language of conversation, when he handed her the cloth with ice wrapped inside. She put it against her cheek and sighed. "I hate him."

"Do you know who he is?" Viktor asked cautiously.

"No," she sighed. "Mum and papa do, I think. He and another have been here many, many times over the years. He's popped up at my school not long before I got my Hogwarts letter and has cornered me walking home from the market or the park many times over the years. He's grabbed me before but he's never struck me until today. They're going to be so angry with me!"

"Why would they be upset with you? _He _hit _you_."

"Oh they'll be furious about that," Hermione agreed, remembering her papa's fury the day that man questioned her at school. "But they've played nicely with him for this many years and I might have just ruined that in all of thirty seconds."

"He looked familiar," Viktor admitted, reluctantly.

Hermione frowned in confusion, "You mean recognize him?"

The wizard leaned back into his seat and fidgeted with a pen that her mum had left on the table that morning, "More that I recognize his type. He's not safe for you to be around, _moyata_. The Russians have operatives in most, if not all, leading countries around the world. Both magical and muggle. Some have chosen to operate independently to an extent, exert their own authority rather than...or rather than _just_ the regime's."

"And you think that's who he is? Some sort of organized crime muscle?" she asked, curiously.

"It is likely. You said there are usually two that come here to your home?"

"Yes," she nodded. "Though the other one has virtually no accent, which I always found odd. He doesn't sound English, Scottish, Irish, Russian, nothing. He's never spoken directly to me though."

"They are both likely Russian or former," Viktor shrugged. "It seems unlikely that there's a combined effort from more than one family. They have likely been in place here in Britain for decades, monitoring those that chose to immigrate here."

"How do you know all of this?"

"Many Bulgarian families have received similar visits throughout the years but it has increased since the dissolution of the Soviet Union," the Bulgarian wizard replied. "We are close enough to muggle areas that it is not hard for us to find the information we needed to know that wizards aren't the only ones capitalizing on the fall."

"Wait," Hermione frowned. "So these men...they're more concerned that we're sharing Russian information with England _and_ reporting them back to Russia rather than being a spy on England?"

"That man we met today," Viktor started. "He's trained himself very hard to hide the accent. To sound more British. He likely hasn't fooled your parents and he didn't fool me. But if he's not Russian than he is at least formerly Soviet."

"I should call my parents," the witch sighed, gesturing to her face. "I shouldn't surprise them with this lest papa assume it was you."

Viktor's eyes widened at the thought of Nicholas Granger thinking that he'd assaulted the man's daughter. That was definitely not something Viktor would ever willingly take the blame for. Despite this mystery man's associations, Viktor couldn't help but consider the long, alphabetically organized, list of things he would like to do to the man who struck his witch. _Amputation, Blood Boiling Hex, Castration…_

Hermione watched the different emotions pass through the wizard's expression and couldn't resist a small giggle. She stood from her chair and leaned forward to press her lips affectionately to his, smiling into the kiss when his large hand cupped her uninjured cheek. Kissing him always brought a warmth into her chest. It seemed to beat and spread in time with her pulse but differently. It was somehow both heavy and light. Warm and comforting. It seemed to always stretch as though reaching towards the wizard whenever they touched.

Despite her parent's concern, kissing is as far as they'd gone. Casual physical affection like hugs or his arm around her shoulders or her waist were common but their hands didn't stray where they ought not. Sometimes it felt a little frustrating but Hermione understood hormones well enough to know that it was better for both of them to pace it out. Somehow, with Viktor, it felt like _that_ step would be far more significant than it would be with anyone else. Though she wasn't entirely sure why she felt that way.

With a smile she drew the kiss to a close and rested her forehead against his, letting her eyes close for a moment to enjoy the warm, comforting feeling that was still present. Pulling back, she kissed his forehead like he often did hers and made her way to the phone and braced herself as she dialed her parents' practice.

"Maryanne? Hi, it's Hermione...is mum with a patient?"

%%%

Recounting the events that led to Hermione's altercation with the man at the park was disturbing to both her parents and to the young wizard that supportively sat beside her through the retelling. She couldn't help but feel guilty for her role in the altercation and apologized repeatedly to her parents for allowing her temper to get away with her.

Nicholas rounded the table and gently pulled his daughter to her feet to draw her into a warm hug. "_Varobushek,_ do not apologize. The fault doesn't rest on you. Your mother and I have been far too tolerant. We should have put an end to this when he harmed you the last time. It ends now. I will speak with him."

"Papa, no," Hermione frowned, fear gripping her at what those men could do to harm her family. She pulled back from the hug just enough to be able to observe her parents' expressions. "They're dangerous, aren't they?"

An odd expression crossed over her father's face, one echoed on her mother's. It was a fierce sort of confidence that made her intensely curious about everything she _didn't_ know about her parents. Her magic pulsed and danced within her in a way she hadn't really felt before but it told her all that she needed to know. She may not know why or how but she trusted her magic and her magic was telling her that, yes those men might be dangerous, but so was her father. Nicholas pressed a gentle kiss to her forehead and smiled in a way that was as far from joyous as could be. "Not to worry _varbushek_."

With that he withdrew from the hug and studied Viktor intently for a moment, causing the boy to squirm much to Nicholas's internal delight, before he turned his attention to his wife. Hermione watched the non-verbal exchange between her parents curiously, leaning against Viktor where he sat. Anna nodded solemnly and Nicholas pressed kisses to his wife and daughter's temples before snatching something from the drawer of the hall table and leaving the house.

"He's going to be okay, isn't he?" Hermione asked, her hand tightening anxiously around Viktor's.

"Your father is a capable man, _milaya_. He will be fine," Anna smiled before shrugging, her smile turning into something bordering on cruel. "The man that touched you...he will not be fine."

Her papa had been gone for several hours that evening and upon his return he paused at the door long enough to meet Anna's expectant gaze with a single nod before disappearing into the bathroom attached to her parents' bedroom. When he reappeared, Hermione noted that there was something exceptionally languid about his body language the rest of the evening. Whatever he had done while he was out of the house had significantly loosened the tension that Nicholas would never admit to carrying. Hermione wasn't sure she wanted to know.

Despite the possibility of an unwelcome visit from Mr Creepy Man lingering in her mind, the remainder of Viktor's short visit went smoothly and entirely too quickly in the opinions of the teenaged couple. Although her papa was still weary of the boy, both of her parents seemed more accepting of his presence following the ordeal at the park.

Hermione was pleased when only a few days after Viktor left to return home, a beautiful eagle owl arrived at the Granger household that her parents identified as belonging to Viktor before she even relieved the bird of the letters it carried. It still struck her as odd that she removed two letters from the owl, one meant for her and the other for her parents jointly. Sweet but odd. Regardless, the Grangers smoothly fell into their normal summer routine. Which now included regular correspondence with the Bulgarian.

That is, until Professor Lupin arrived at their home to take her to spend the remaining weeks of her summer with her friends. For the first time, she wasn't sure that she actually wanted to go.

"I love you _varbushek," _her papa said quietly as he hugged her tightly. "Be safe and write often."

"I love you too, papa," Hermione smiled, a little sadly before moving to hug her mum just as tightly. "Love you, mum."

"I love you, too. Please be safe, my Hermione," Anna sighed, wishing once again that she could keep her girl right where she was.

"Are you ready, Miss Granger?" Remus questioned softly, clearly reluctant to interrupt the family's farewells.

"Yes, Professor, I'm ready," Hermione sighed heavily.

And they were gone.

"I hate this, Nikolai," Anna sighed, shakily. "Every year has been progressively worse. What awaits our daughter this year?"

"I wish I knew _liybimaya_," he sighed, running a hand wearily through his hair.

%%%

Anna had been right, that year had been worse than the previous for Hermione. Their girl came home that year, after nothing but stilted, very vaguely worded letters all year, with a horrific scar marring her torso that she tried so very hard to hide from her parents. They hid their fury from their daughter the best that they could and ensured that she was comfortable and able to heal as much as possible. It was clear to them that Hermione was very reluctant to answer their questions. Her placating fabrications irritated and frustrated her parents.

They didn't know the details of what happened to their girl. What Hermione didn't know, however, was that Anna and Nicholas knew far more than she had ever known was even possible.

Nicholas suggested taking Hermione on a short holiday away from everything to help with the healing process. Anna agreed. But there was something she needed to do first. No longer would they allow their family to be harmed while they remained passive. And so, she penned a letter.

%%%

The wizard cautiously approached the park bench in muggle London where the owl missive had bid him to go. The message itself was a simple and straightforward request for a meeting in elegant, feminine script. What was peculiar, however, was that the missive had been written quite formally in Russian. He had not held correspondence with anyone fluent in the language aside from his father in many of years, suffice to say that his overactive curiosity had been piqued. That the letter had arrived just days following his second release from Azkaban made it even more so.

A woman sat poised on the bench, shadowed by the night, the large trees surrounding the bench guarded her from the moonlight making her features difficult to distinguish much beyond her silhouette. He could see her head turn towards him as he approached wearily. Curious he might be, but foolish he was not. He kept his hand wrapped securely around his wand, hidden in his pocket just in case.

"Antonin Dolohov," she spoke, her voice oddly stern and commanding while remaining soft, in Russian, she continued. "I'm glad you came."

"Who are you and why did you request this meeting?" He demanded, in turn.

"I wanted to speak to the man responsible for nearly killing my daughter," the woman replied, her tone unchanged. There was no hysteria or anger that Antonin would have expected from a protective mother seeking out a murderous Death Eater. While her tone remained nearly casual, there was a hint of steel lacing the words that indicated this woman was anything but.

"The Granger girl," the wizard sneered. "Why is a muggle requesting a meeting with a Death Eater over an injured Mudblood?"

"Careful Antonin," the woman, warned evenly, entirely unthreatened by the man before her.

He narrowed his eyes at the shadowed woman, attempting to see through the darkness enveloping her. "And why is my caution required? What damage can you do that I cannot return onto you tenfold?" Why was he still entertaining this ridiculous meeting?

A slight movement in her hidden features indicated that she might have smiled at him, Antonin had more than enough self-preservation to feel a sliver of unease creep forward. Though he couldn't place the exact cause, the exchange had him on edge. "I would truly hate to see what would happen to you should it become known that you are every bit the spy that we _both_ know that you are."

Antonin's breath caught though he strove to show no changes through body language or behavior. This woman, this _muggle_, knew nothing. "What you are suggesting, woman, would see your death. Tell me why shouldn't I kill you now?"

"I know far more about you and your family than you would have ever thought possible," the woman said, words sounding like a promise. "I know who you are Antonin Dolohov. I know _who_ you are, _what_ you are, and I know _exactly_ what brought you to England and it was _not_ your Dark Lord. Though I'm sure he has made for quite a smooth alibi."

"What is it, then, that you think you know?" Antonin baited.

"Antonin Dolohov, youngest child and only son of Andrei and Jalena Dolohov. "I know that the Regime sent your family to England in the forties, in the midst of the Great Wars," Mrs Granger replied, shadows shifting with her shrug. "I know that your mother attempted to return to Russia with you and your sisters several times throughout your childhood. I know that _you_ were the only one to return to your father after the last attempt. Though, admittedly, I do not know the current whereabouts of your mother and sisters. More importantly, to this conversation at least, I know exactly _why_ your family was sent to England all those years ago. I quite possibly know more about your family than even you do."

Antonin clenched is wand tightly in his hand, his body was struck immobile by the words of the muggle woman. Though, he was no longer entirely certain that she _was_ a muggle. Squib, perhaps?

"Andrei's orders, which you inherited after his recall to Russia roughly twenty years ago, were to keep the Regime appraised of Wizarding Britain and all potential allies and threats. That's at least part of why you joined your little terror group, is it not? Why you allowed it to swallow you whole? To provide information on the extent of the threat? And of course, to see if there was anything to substantiate the rumors regarding the young Anastasia. I suspect it's been some time since you have had the ability to pass information, hasn't it, Antonin? Has the Regime questioned your usefulness yet? Has your _master_?" The pair stared at one another in silence for a drawn out moment before her shadowed features shifted again.

"The biggest question now is, what will you do now that you've found her?" The woman's hand lit with a silvery grey ball of fire, very similar to the bluebell flames that her daughter so loved save for the colour itself.

Antonin stared with wide eyes at the woman, the witch, standing in front of him, glowing in the silvery light given off by a ball of flames in her hand. Anastasia Romanova should have been well over one hundred years old. This woman couldn't have been much, if any, older than Antonin himself. He couldn't deny, though, the stark resemblance to the photographs he had been forced to memorize throughout the years. The roundness of her face portrayed in her childhood pictures hadn't left her and her features were neither overly thin or overly heavy. She held an elegance that kept her from the otherwise humble persona that she wore. The silvery glow made it difficult to tell the precise shades of her hair or eyes, it wouldn't have mattered anyway. All photographs of the Grand Duchess that Antonin had memorized had not been in colour anyway. If this wasn't Anastasia Romanova that she was most certainly a daughter of the lost Duchess, he thought.

"How is this possible?" Antonin asked, growing angry in his confusion, "Who are you?"

"My father was an intelligent man and was a Master in many aspects of Magic that many areas of the world had not yet come to acknowledge," she shrugged. "My father knew we would be targeted, we already _had_ been targeted, and he knew there would be no mercy shown. That they murdered even little Alexei proves that he was correct. My father's plan-details of which I will_ not_ be sharing, not with you-worked, I was removed from my death and my family's massacre not even a full hour before they came for us. It was a true challenge to escape Russia undetected but once we were here it was comparatively simple for a young Soviet couple to immigrate to England in the late 60's. Unfortunately, _your_ family's presence here means that at least some of my father's notes must have fallen into opposition hands, at some point."

"And you chose to live among _muggles?_" Antonin asked, incredulously. "And what wizard?"

"It was easier to assimilate in with the Muggles," Anastasia said, simply. "While they had also heard of the missing girl, there was no concern that they would associate me with her more than sixty years later. They simply saw us as desperate immigrants escaping the Communist regime. They pitied us more than anything. Wizards...Well, there was a concern that they might have attempted to make a connection."

"And the wizard?" he prompted, again.

"I'd almost forgotten that nosiness was a _Dolohov_ trait," she rolled her eyes in exasperation causing Antonin's brow to arch inquiringly. "My husband was sent with me, for protection and longevity primarily. He goes by Nicholas Granger now but you would know him as Nikolai Dolohov."

Antonin's uncle. His father's eldest brother who had supposedly died when Andrei was only five. "Nikolai Dolohov died-"

"Yes, went missing and presumed dead, or so I've read," she finished for him, swatting his argument away with her hand as she would a pest. "Interesting, isn't it, that Nikolai was reported missing not even a full month after my family was slaughtered? Though, I suppose with as much chaos as our country was in at the time, it was easily passed as coincidence. That was the intent, after all."

Antonin sunk onto the bench beside her, attempting to wrap his head around the fantastical story he had been told. The witch retook her spot beside him, hands folded into her lap and ankles crossed properly. Without allowing him time to reconcile his thoughts, she leveled a stern glare in his direction. "There is still one issue that must be addressed, Antonin."

The wizard blearily looked over at the witch, expression weary but questioning.

"You attempted to murder my daughter and nearly succeeded. You did succeed in permanently scarring her body."

It was only then that the true weight of his transgression registered in his mind. This woman next to him was the last remaining member of the royal family, the natural born Empress of Russia. Her daughter-_his young cousin, _and dear Merlin was that an odd thought-her heir. And his curse had very nearly killed the girl.

"That you did not know who she was nor that she should have never been that near you to begin with does not absolve your actions," she said, rising to her feet once more to look down at him coldly. She extended her hand and traced his features delicately with her fingertips, her hand moving behind his head to grip the hair at the back of his head roughly to ensure he couldn't look away. It should have been amusing that a witch as small as she would attempt to overpower him in such away. Were it nearly any other witch he would have either kissed or killed her already. As it was, he remained locked exactly where he was as her lips lowered to hiss softly into his ear. To a passerby, Antonin had little doubt that the display would have looked incredibly intimate.

"You are no longer a spy of the Regime or your _Lord_, Antonin Dolohov," she stated, concisely, leaving no doubt that it was to be taken as a direct order. "You will no longer report to them anything that I have not given you express clearance to report. Your loyalty belongs, and for the rest of your natural life will belong to this family and to me. Should you choose to betray us, your life will be forfeit, family or not. And I shall do it myself."

Antonin swallowed heavily but jerked his head against her hold in understanding. "It is as you wish."

"Vow it," she demanded, her fingers tightening.

Antonin winced but slowly withdrew his wand from his pocket and rested the fist enclosed around it over his heart. He dug into his memory for the words he had been forced to recite as a child until they were fully ingrained into his mind. His father had prepared him well for this, and now Antonin knew why.

The Russian vow slipped through his lips binding his life and magic, as well as those of the Dolohov family current and future, to that of the Royal line once more "I, Antonin Aleksei Dolohov, swear loyalty and fidelity of the Dolohov's by Magic or blood to Anastasia Nikolaevna Romanova and all who are bound to her by Magic or blood. We shall heed their guidance and know their mercy, should they choose it."

She released her grip on his hair and stood upright in front of him. "I hear your vow, Antonin Dolohov, and we accept. Honor will be repaid with honor, loyalty with loyalty, and respect with respect. Betrayal will know no mercy and will be repaid with death."

Both witch and wizard could feel Magic sealing their oaths, binding their families together. Anna knew that her husband and daughter would feel it too, though the latter would be unlikely to know what it was she was feeling. She also knew that the Dolohov line would feel their binding. Antonin would not betray them, but she would have to move cautiously if she wanted her family's location kept secret.

"What of the Dark Lord?" Antonin asked once the magic had settled.

"His existence cannot be allowed to continue," Anastasia said, releasing a sigh and stepping away. "He is a pestilence and a danger to this and every other family in the Magical and mundane worlds. You are officially my spy, Antonin, in all places and in all ways. You will report everything directly to me."

"I understand," he confirmed, praying that his voice did not betray how anxious such a position had truly made him. A spy on any level was not without risks but to spy on a Master Legimens? Antonin wondered briefly if he would see the end of the upcoming fight.

"Antonin," Anna said, voice far kinder than it had been up until that point. The wizard returned his attention to the woman. "You are family, Antonin. You are loyal to us and we are loyal to you. Nikolai and I may be in hiding but we are not without the ability to protect you while you help us."

Antonin eyed her speculatively before nodding once, "My position among the Dark Lord's ranks is precarious following the events that led to your daughter's injury and my subsequent imprisonment. He does not tolerate failure. There are things in the works now. Things circulating around your daughter and her friends…"

"Keep me apprised as you are able but do make a point to take care of yourself as well. And while you're at it, I would like you to find everything that you can locate about Viktor Krum and the Bulgarian Krum family," she added. "I need to, at the very least, know their loyalties."

"The Bulgarian Quidditch Team Seeker?" he inquired, curiously.

"The boy is seeking to court my daughter since they attended the Hogwarts Yule Ball together and has visited since," the witch said, voice returning to the soft yet commanding tone. "I would like to be sure that it is safe. That she would be safe. Before I give my blessing."

"I presume you will both remain in hiding for the time being?"

"Yes, I think that is the wisest course of action available to us as I am certain you are not the only one sent to find us," she nodded slightly.

"What do I call you?"

"Anna. I go by Anna now. Nikolai is now Nicholas. He will want to see you, soon I suspect."

"Did my father know?"

"He did," Anna confirmed. "Andrei has done what he could to protect our family. Mostly by supplying misdirection. You were to be brought into our confidence when you came of age but by then we were already concerned about your allegiances. Thankfully, it seems that you have grown some from your youthful ideals."

"Does she know? Your daughter?"

"No," Anna admitted. "I have let her grow as a normal girl ought to. She is sixteen now, we will have to have the conversation with her soon. Hopefully, before she reaches her majority. But we are reluctant to add more to the burdens she carries."


	3. Chapter 3

**Author's Note:**

**Hello again! So I know that I'm totally late for posting this chapter and I'm so sorry for that! I should be back to normal posting schedule. Frankly, real life kinda kicked my butt lately. Kiddo went back to school. I've started a new job. Plus I may or may not have stumbled upon a fic or two that I got sucked into and binged. Totally irresponsible, I know but it happens, right? **

**Anyway, once again, this isn't beta'd so any mistakes that you might come across are 100% my own. **

**Thank you so, so, so much for everyone that has followed, favorited, and reviewed for this story. Holy crapola, the response to this story so far has completely blown my mind. I hope that this chapter continues the trend. **

**I hope that you enjoy this one as much as the last two! (P.S. Don't hate me ;) )**

**Always,**

**ABD**

**%%%%%**

**Chapter 3**

**%%%%%**

Hermione sat on the floor between the couch and the large table in front of the roaring fireplace in the Gryffindor common room, books and parchment scattered across the surface and quill in hand. The parchment currently beneath her quill was filled with her neat handwriting but, despite the organized chaos of books and notes strategically placed around her, she wasn't working on homework.

She was completely caught up, after all. But the boys didn't need to know that. Even though they would if they took half a second to actually think about it.

As it was, one glance at the curly-haired witch surrounded by work had been enough to send Harry and Ron scurrying for the Quidditch pitch. Thank Merlin for small favors. While she was in no way ashamed or embarrassed about her ongoing relationship with Viktor, it was nice to have some semblance of peace when composing her return letter.

She missed him something fierce. It was a deep, pulling ache in her chest, the same place that pulsed and warmed when he was near enough to touch. Their frequent letters helped to some extent but it wasn't quite the same. Two years of long letters and all-too-short visits were trying on her young heart but something in her told her that it was worth it.

When Harry found her, following the rather disturbing scene that Ron and Lavender had made in the common room, Hermione hadn't truly been able to explain why it had bothered her. He knew anyway. Oblivious as the wizard tended to be, Harry was one of the few people who she had confided in. It wasn't jealousy that sent her fleeing from the common room. Not entirely anyway and not in the way that Ron might have assumed.

Harry had curled an arm protectively around her shoulders and rested his head against hers in a rare display of affection as they talked quietly about her relationship with Viktor, despite the physical distance, and his with Ginny, despite the emotional distance. They talked and, for once, avoided talking about the dark cloud that lingered over thoughts of the future. To her surprise, he had even asked her to learn her native language. Her strategic mind knew that being able to speak privately in a public setting without being understood would be beneficial. But even more than that, Harry was the first person who truly wanted to learn something from that side of her life. If she was a little more emotional and hugged him a little tighter before they parted ways, well, only Harry would know.

Oddly enough, the only other person who knew more than Harry was Luna. Despite their rocky beginnings, Hermione had found a true kindred spirit in the blonde witch.

"It's your magic," Luna had said, carefully working Hermione's chaotic curls into intricate braids.

"What do you mean?"

"The stretching pull? It's your magic. It's not just your mind that misses him, Hermione," the blonde smiled sympathetically. "It's your magic."

"My magic is missing him?" Hermione frowned.

"Of course," Luna nodded. She gently tapped her fingers against Hermione's sternum, "Trust your magic, Hermione. It won't fail you."

Hermione thought hard on that conversation for ages afterwards. She hadn't gotten the nerve just yet to put it into a letter, though. She was trying to trust what her magic was apparently telling her, that there really was something more but, truth be told, with everything that was happening throughout the country since Voldemort's return, she couldn't allow herself the hope. There was too much to do, too much coming their way to allow distractions like that.

And then Death Eaters breached the safety of the castle and Dumbledore died. Suddenly, distraction was the one thing she wanted most but could ill-afford to indulge in.

She's afraid. So very, very afraid of what lay ahead of them.

I wish you were here. She had written, just before she was expected to head down to the courtyard for the Headmaster's funeral. Harry was wonderful, he was family. Luna, too. Even Ron was a decent friend most of the time. But...with the darkness engulfing them, Hermione found herself wanting to submerse herself into the warmth of Viktor's gentle hugs more than she could put into words.

%%%

Hermione could feel her heart breaking in her chest. She knew that her parents were in danger. How could they not be? She loved Harry with every fiber of her being. He was the brother that her parents never had but magic saw fit to gift her with anyway. Hermione could think of nothing that could break the bond of love, friendship, and family that she had with the dark-haired wizard.

But she knew that her attachment to him was putting herself and her family at risk. She could accept that she would be in danger. She was a witch and a very skilled one, at that. Her parents were muggles, though. If Death Eaters came to the house…

The young witch clenched her eyes closed and shook her head. She couldn't think about that. She had to act now. Hermione paced her room for several minutes before moving towards the closed bedroom door. Listening carefully, she could hear her parents conversing quietly in the kitchen downstairs. The house seemed to have been built in just the right way that voices seemed to travel easily from the lower level to the upper. She couldn't discern what they were saying but she could tell there was tension in her mother's tone.

As quietly as she could manage, she slipped down the stairs with her wand gripped tightly in hand. Peeking around the corner, Hermione watched her parents talking near the sink, both of their backs to her as they washed the dishes from breakfast side-by-side. Hermione felt her heart break all over again. There was nothing overly special about the moment but that it was so utterly normal gave her something else that she was going to miss.

Her father had always been a very tall, solidly built man. His tall, broad frame had always made him seem like a larger-than-life being to her as a young girl. And even still, if she was honest. Hermione remembered when she was a little girl, he had always seemed as tall as the trees in their backyard. His presence had always lent a sense of safety and security. She had always been close with her mum but whenever she'd had a bad day at school or had struggled with bullying, it was always being held tight her Papa's strong arms that she craved above all. He was gruff man, undoubtedly, and had proven he would go to great lengths to protect their family but Hermione truly treasured her relationship with him.

She turned her attention to her mother. Anna Granger wasn't a petite woman but she certainly seemed to be when standing beside her husband. She had a sturdy elegance about her, though, that Hermione had always envied. Her mum had always had the grace of a ballet dancer and severity that could have, and occasionally did, easily rival Professor McGonagall when she set her mind to it. But she was kind and loving. Hermione knew that her mother loved her fiercely.

Her mother wasn't all stickler though, both of her parents knew that life had to include fun if it were really worth living. The witch's heart clenched remembering the frequent practical jokes and elaborate prank wars that the Grangers engaged in throughout the years. While the Granger parents were sticklers about Hermione following the rules and having the utmost respect for authority, they loved hearing their little girl's giggles and laughter during those times where they could relax and enjoy one another's company. She idly wondered what the Weasley twins would make of that particular Granger tradition. If they believed it existed at all.

Hermione shook off the memories plaguing her and studied the moment in front of her, committing it to memory. Anna had frowned and looked up to her husband with an exasperated expression as she handed him another dripping plate for drying.

"I'm worried about her, Nikolai," her mother insisted in her native tongue, voice heavily with frustration. "She's going to do something foolish, I just know it."

Hermione quietly sucked in a breath at the statement. Of course, they worried about her. They were her parents. Parents that were really, truly better off not knowing the trouble their daughter was getting herself involved in any more than they already did. Her fingertips of the hand not gripping her wand brushed under her shirt to touch the prominent scar that still ran the course of her torso. Remembering the pain that one curse could cause, Hermione drew a deep breath and silently raised her wand towards her parents' backs.

"Obliviate" she whispered.

Her eyes widened in shock and fear as an odd rippling in the air absorbed the spell just before it could hit either adult.

"Something just like that," Anna insisted as she turned from the sink, arms crossed over her chest to stare pointedly at her daughter. "I told you Nikolai, she is my daughter. I know how she thinks. Do you not recall my youth?."

"It's alright, varobushek," her father said calmly, approaching her still outstretched wand hand. Hermione watched him, wide-eyed and completely unsure what had just happened and why. Her spell should have worked! What was that ripple that stopped it? When had any sort of warding been placed on their home? Why had it stopped it? What on earth was going on?!

Her eyes snapped back up to her Papa as he wrapped his long fingers around her wrist and lowered her hand back down to her side. "Papa? What is going on?"

"We have much to discuss, Hermione, and clearly very little time in which to discuss it," he said, gently leading her to the kitchen table. Her mum had already started tea so the father and daughter waited, quite impatiently, as it boiled and brewed. Hermione watched as Anna topped off each of the cups with a small amount of her papa's good whiskey. She hoped it was to calm everyone rather than liquid courage at this point.

Glancing thoughtfully at her daughter, Anna sighed and waved her hand carefully and the cups moved smoothly from the counter to rest on the table in front of their respective owners. Hermione stared at the cup in front of her in shock. Had her mother just done magic?

"Mum?" she said, begging for clarification but not being able to find the words to voice them.

"I will ask for your patience tonight, milaya," Anna said as she sat across the table from her daughter and beside her husband. "I will explain everything as thoroughly as I can in the time that we have. We trust that you would not have acted in such a way if there were not time constraints."

Hermione nodded slowly, eying each of her parents in helpless confusion.

"As you know, your father and I came to England from Russia. There is much of our story that you do not know, however. I was not born Anna. Anna was a derivative nickname from when I was a young girl, one of many that my sisters used," her mother began thoughtfully, her voice rough and accent stronger as though the topic of conversation was enough to pull it back from where she'd hidden herself away for years. Perhaps, Hermione thought, that was exactly what it was. "I was born as Anastasia Nikolaevna Romanov."

The young witch frowned, the name tickling the back of her mind. "How is that possible? Mum, I don't understand?"

"You remember the story? I remember that you touched on it in primary school," Nicholas said at his daughter's affirmative nod, he continued. "Your grandfather was a brilliant man, something that your mother and yourself inherited from him, no doubt."

"We don't have all of the time available to us that I would have preferred for this conversation," Anna took over. "We really should have made time for it last summer but the timing never felt right. My girl, it's time you learned the history of your family. Your heritage."

"As I said, I was born in June of 1901 as Anastasia Nikolaevna," Anna repeated. "And yes, I am the Anastasia that you grew up learning about in passing. However, I obviously was not killed along with the slaughter of our family. In that time, things were very...tense in Russia. Immediately following the first Great War, there was much animosity towards the Empire and my father who ruled it. Just before I was to come of age, the writing was already on the walls and our end was imminent. There were many that were unhappy with how my father was leading the country."

"As you ought to know," Anna continued, "the Russian Civil war ignited shortly after the end of the Great War. For the sake of brevity, my father, your grandfather, and I worked tirelessly in the year or so leading up to our imprisonment putting into place a failsafe so that our family would not perish in its entirety. I was chosen because, aside from my father, my magic was the strongest and was most likely to survive what we were attempting to do. It was very...involved magic that we worked. In today's society, especially here in Britain, it would have been classified as quite Dark, I'm sure. I was seventeen, just as you are now when we heard word of our impending execution."

Hermione pushed down a shudder. Wasn't her own execution imminent if something didn't change soon? She forced her attention back to her parents' explanation.

"Nikolai, your father and I, were intricately and completely bound just before our family's imprisonment. My father planned it meticulously, he had a habit of refusing to acknowledge anything short of perfection. This was no different. We managed to have a short window of advanced warning that the guards were on their way to take my family from me, my father activated his carefully crafted web of spellwork. You see, the magic that my father created integrated into and drew from our family magic, our family's blood, as a Final Rite. Neither he nor I alone had the innate power to fuel it individually. Our family's dying gift was to utilize the combined power of the Family Magics to remove myself and Nikolai from Russia 1918 and deposit us into 1968. Though even with all of the careful planning and calculations, there was no way to know exactly when we would arrive or what sort of world we would be arriving into. But it only had to be time enough to remove me from the current danger.

That is why the body of Anastasia Nikolaevna was never found and rumors have persisted throughout the decades since. That is why, though not as widely known, Nikolai went missing at the same time and why he was later declared dead. With the amount of power such a spell would require, I have little doubt that those sent to execute us simply desecrated my family's already dead or dying bodies for show. Disgusting creatures," her mother all but snarled.

"It took us some time in the height of the Soviet Union," the way her father spat the final two words had more bitterness than Hermione was sure she'd ever heard the man use, "But with careful planning, we were able to immigrate here, to England. Your mother was twenty by then and I was twenty-four. I have no doubt that the government watched us closely for some time, they likely still are, but we settled under the names you've always known us as. We studied hard and worked harder to establish ourselves here. It wasn't the easiest transition for two Russians born to nobility but we did what we had to do."

Hermione frowned in thought over what she had been told. It sounded fantastical. Unreal. She had always known that her parents were immigrants from Russia. Hell, it had been one of the many reasons the other children chose to tease her in primary school. But this...this story was beyond anything even her gifted mind could wrap itself around. She obviously knew that time travel was possible to some extent. But it had always been backwards in time and only for a couple hours, not decades forward in time! Her parents believed it to be fact, however, and her own magic chimed with rightness so she couldn't find it in herself to dismiss it out of hand, no matter how much she wanted to.

Hermione couldn't help but think that magic like this was exactly why muggles had so many conspiracy theories.

"I suppose now I know why you insisted on all those lessons growing up," the young witch said with a high, stressed giggle. "So what is our actual name? I mean, Granger is a long way from Nikolaevna or even Romanova for that matter."

Her mother shrugged in the elegant way that Hermione had never been able to mimic and exchanged an odd glance with her Papa, "We are still the Romanova's. That will never leave us. And, technically, you and I are both Nikolaevna."

"I was born as Nikolai Dolohov," her father answered, wearily.

"D-Dolohov?" Hermione sputtered, her fingers automatically tracing the scar on her torso, the dark look in her father's gaze at the motion went unnoticed by the young witch but his wife carefully covered his hand with hers to help calm him.

"Antonin is no longer a danger to you, milaya," her mother promised. "I had the pleasure of ensuring that."

Hermione's eyes bulged, "Mum! You didn't...you didn't kill him, did you?"

Her papa laughed. Her mother did not. Anna rolled her eyes and glared slightly towards the man with what might be considered a pout, not that either husband or daughter would say such a thing aloud, "No, silly girl, I simply had a nice little talk with him. I might have threatened him slightly but he wasn't harmed. Regardless, his loyalty has been assured."

"That's too bad," Hermione replied, feeling a little bitter that the man who had scarred her so had essentially gotten off with a warning. "How are we related to him, anyway?"

"He is my nephew and your cousin," Nikolai answered. "His father, Andrei is my youngest brother."

"And you were alright leaving them all behind?"

"It was my duty," he answered immediately before grimacing slightly at the unintended coldness of the statement. "It started that way, at least. The way that your mother and I were bound, my girl, it was more than a simple marriage rite, or even an extravagant marriage rite, for that matter. It is irreversible. It is permanent. My life in all its essence is bound entirely with your mother's and vice versa. Our souls, our magics, and everything in between are entirely enmeshed. It was the only way we could be sure that I would go with her when the time came. I would have been a fool to turn away from binding with the Tsar's youngest daughter even if I hadn't already been fond of her. But, I assure you, what began as duty and responsibility...well, that wasn't how it remained for long."

"You think that they're still looking for us? All these years later?"

"I'm certain that they are," Anna confirmed. "Russians have always, always, been very clever at placing their spies."

"Mum? Papa?" Hermione started, pausing for a moment once their attention moved back to her. "You know you're in danger here?"

"Antonin had mentioned something to that effect," her mother sighed. "What had you planned so far, my girl?"

"Keep you safe," Hermione shrugged. At her mother's stern glance though, she winced and continued. "I had planned to Obliviate you both, remove me from your memories entirely and...and send you to Australia...far away from here and away from this whole nightmare."

Her parents were utterly silent for a few moments before Hermione braved a glance up at them. The couple seemed to be speaking without words, something that she had always envied of their relationship. Even Fred and George Weasley weren't able to make it look so seamless. She wondered if it was just the age and nature of their relationship or if their binding had something to do with it.

"Tell us, varobushek, tell us everything," her papa insisted gently, leaning forward to rest his forearms against the table. And so she did. Trolls, basilisks, Sirius, the god-awful tournament, and everything. Her mum refreshed their tea twice throughout the tale while her papa had, at one point, moved around the table to hold her close while she spoke.

"I'm sorry," she murmured tearfully. "I know I shouldn't have kept it all from you."

"You should not have," her father agreed, tightening his arm around her and pressing a kiss to the top of her head. "But now is not the time to go into that. Now we must plan."

Anna was composed but thoughtful, "We need Antonin for this conversation, Nikolai. He will have information and connections that we may not." Hermione fought her body's instinctive need to tense the thought of that man in their home. Her papa must have felt her response and she felt his arm tighten protectively around her while he nodded thoughtfully in agreement with her mother. With his agreement, Anna rose from the table and left the kitchen, presumably to contact the wayward Death Eater. "I will alert him to come by as soon as possible.".

"Do you…" Hermione paused and bit her lip anxiously before looking back up at her papa. "Do you think Professor Dumbledore knew?"

"About us?" her father questioned. At her nod, he tilted his head thoughtfully before shrugging. "I believe that he suspected something. How accurate his suspicions were is something we will likely never know."

%%%%%

Antonin Dolohov was standing in her home. There was a notoriously dangerous, Azkaban escapee twice over, Death Eater in her home, leaning against the doorframe leading into the kitchen, studying her intently with dark eyes that she only just recognized were very similar to her papa's. Not only was the Death Eater in her home but he had been invited. By her parents. Because apparently, the fate had a twisted sense of humor and the man that had tried to kill her was her long-lost cousin.

Because her parents were time travelers.

And her mother was actually the long lost Grand Duchess Anastasia.

Did that make her the long lost cousin?

Dear Merlin, could this night be anymore screwed up?

Her papa's arm tightened around her shoulders and Hermione's gaze shot to his face in time to see the stern, almost scolding, glare directed at the wizard across the room. She followed his glare and was surprised-and secretly gratified-to see Dolohov...Antonin's dark eyes drop to the floor in response.

He cleared his throat awkwardly as he pushed off the door frame, hands shoved deep into his trouser pockets. "She looks like Tanya. I didn't notice it before."

Hermione frowned in confusion and glanced back and forth between the two men in hopes of some clarification. Who was Tanya?

"My youngest sister varobushek," her papa answered the unvoiced question before turning his attention away once again. "We'll wait until Anna returns to continue. Sit, Antonin, you can hover and feel awkward later."

The dark wizard cautiously lowered himself into the chair across from her father, forearms braced against the table top with his hands laced together in front of him. She watched as his gaze flickered briefly to her father before coming back to study her intently. After a moment, his shoulders dropped and the intensity softened slightly.

"Kuzina," he began, lowly. "I am sorry for the harm I have caused you. I don't expect your forgiveness but I am sorry just the same."

Hermione eyed him warily but offered a sharp nod in return. She knew better than to ignore the overture entirely with her papa sitting right beside her. Such rudeness wasn't acceptable, especially among family. And apparently...he was family.

Her mum returned a short time later, tucking something into her pocket. She nodded briefly to her husband and offered a squeeze to Antonin's shoulder as she took the vacant chair beside him. "We must have a secure way of communicating. It is evident that we will not be able to see this through as a united front as we might like."

"Oh! Hold on! I can do this one!" Hermione eagerly sat upright and dug her small bag from her pocket. She grinned cheekily to her parents before reaching into the bag up to her elbow and withdrawing a handful of galleons, dropping all but four back into the depths.

"Very good, varobushek," her papa murmured with pride. Hermione blushed at the praise and ducked her head for a brief moment when her mum and cousin's expressions seemed to echo the sentiment.

Hermione shook off the sudden bashfulness and quickly handed one of the galleons to the others around the table, "I made these originally, in our fifth year-" she shifted uncomfortably for a moment with a fleeting glance towards the dark wizard seated across from her, "Remember, mum, papa, I told you about the Defense club that we created? These were the communication method we used. It's not wholly elegant and definitely not enough for in depth communication but it's a start."

"A Protean Charm? You made these at fifteen?" Antonin asked, curiously.

Hermione recalled hearing that the man was quite brilliant in his own right and was unsurprised that he had been able to figure out the charm work so quickly. She shrugged shyly, "It took several tries for me to get it right."

"Show us, milaya," her mum encouraged. Hermione chewed her lip thoughtfully and focused on the coin in her hand. Anna smiled when her coin heated, she and the two men peered curiously at the message: Still United Front.

"You just hold onto it and focus your magic on your message," Hermione explained, feeling awkward explaining the magic to her parents who apparently already knew. "These are my last four that are linked, but they're only linked to each other so they suit our purposes, right?"

A muted crack from near the front of the house drew the conversation to an immediate halt. Hermione's eyes widened in panic and her hands began to shake at the horrifyingly familiar sound. She asked as quietly as she was capable, "Are we expecting anyone else?"

"Antonin, take Hermione and go," Nikolai instructed in an urgent hiss as they all quickly rose from the table, pocketing the galleons. He pressed a kiss to Hermione's forehead before shoving her towards the other wizard.

"No!" Hermione insisted rushing back towards her parents, fear clenching her stomach. "They'll kill you! You can't. Mum, Papa, please, come with us!"

"Hermione!" Anna shook her head, pressing a kiss to her daughter's curls before pushing her back again towards the Death Eater. "There is no time. You must go. Antonin must not be seen and you must go with him. He will keep you safe. Go. Go now."

Hermione felt a pair of strong arms wrap snugly around her torso and she fought to pull away. She watched her papa turn to speak with her mum but couldn't hear anything over what sounded like an explosion coming from the front of the house where the crack of apparation had originated and the pounding in her own ears before she was pulled through the uncomfortable tube-like sensation of sidelong apparation.

"No, no, no, no. No! We have to-We have to go back!" She shrieked when they landed, her adrenaline fueled mind doing her best to shove Antonin away from her in a desperate attempt to get back and help her parents. His arms tightened around her and hugged her close, allowing her to tear through her fear and anger as she needed until the fight swept out of her all at once dropping her into tears of anguish instead.


End file.
